


my thoughts are safer inside

by themetgayla



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Self-Harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28181502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: chloe thinks beca has ptsd, but she doesn’t. right?
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	my thoughts are safer inside

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this a few days ago to my oneshot collection but i wanted to post it as a separate work too given it’s length!! and i wanted more people to see it :)
> 
> this fic is based off my personal experience. beca’s story is largely my own, so please be gentle with feedback. last week i was diagnosed with ptsd, and felt the need to write something about it in hopes of catharsis.
> 
> **please check the tags for trigger warnings**

**beca has ptsd**

Beca’s phone chimes, breaking the comfortable silence of the room. They’re sitting on the couch, Beca’s legs stretched out over Chloe’s lap as she responds to emails. The redhead is knitting, a recent hobby she’s taken up in an attempt to relieve some of the stress she’s picked up from her veterinary internship.

“Chlo, can you tell me who it’s from?” Beca murmurs, eyes fixed on her laptop screen. It’s taken her a solid half an hour to actually sit down and stop procrastinating, so she really can’t afford to get distracted now.

“What?” 

Tearing her eyes from her laptop, Beca casts her gaze across to Chloe, who’s staring at her in confusion. “The message, on my phone? It’s on the table next to you.”

Recognition dawns on the redhead’s face.“Oh! Sure.” She reaches across to pick up her girlfriend’s phone, the large screen lighting up as she does so. She unlocks the phone with Face ID so she can view the message. “It’s from someone called Clara? She’s asking if you can meet up for coffee.”

The question in Chloe’s tone reminds Beca that she’s never told her about Clara. Somehow, she’d almost managed to forget about that period of her life and the destruction Clara wrought, but now, the repressed memories come flooding back at an alarming speed.

Beca feels her breath leave her before she can answer Chloe, her throat tightening. Her heart leaps into her mouth, and without warning, her hands begin to shake and her vision blurs.  _ Shit _ .

Desperate not to let Chloe see her in the throes of a panic attack, Beca shoves her laptop off her legs and moves off the couch. The expensive item falls to the floor, alerting Chloe to the extent that Clara’s message has affected her girlfriend. (Beca always takes the utmost care of her laptop, and rarely lets anyone touch it.)

“Beca?” Concern seeps into Chloe’s voice as she watches the brunette rush from the room, hands balled into fists, legs trembling. She rises on impulse, her heart telling her to follow Beca. Her head tells her it isn’t a good idea.

Despite the way Chloe’s managed to dismantle Beca’s defences over the years, the woman is still intensely private whenever she’s vulnerable. Although it had upset the redhead at first, convinced Beca didn’t care about her enough to allow her in, she’s since come to terms with the fact that sometimes her girlfriend needs space when she’s upset. She still desperately wishes she could be there for Beca and hold her during her times of crisis, but she understands that not everyone deals with things the way she does. Beca much prefers a hot cup of tea and a side to cuddle into once she’s calmed down.

Chloe struggles to distract herself while she waits for Beca to return. She tries continuing with the scarf she’s making, but as she makes her fifth mistake in ten minutes, it becomes evident she’s too wound up. She opts for scrolling through Instagram, though she finds herself listening for any movement in the flat to indicate Beca’s return.

As soon as the door opens, Chloe snaps her head up, dropping her phone. Beca’s standing awkwardly on the threshold, eyes red and still glistening with tears. She’s wearing one of Chloe’s old Bellas hoodies, and the redhead feels a surge of pride that she thought to change even in her erratic state. (Over the years, that hoodie has become Beca’s item of comfort clothing. She finds Chloe’s scent calming, even if the redhead isn’t with her physically.)

Chloe fights the urge to envelop Beca in a warm embrace, knowing that the brunette prefers to initiate contact in her own time when she’s upset. “Are you okay?”

Not trusting herself to speak without crumbling into tears again, Beca nods. She moves quietly over to the couch, sinking into Chloe’s arms and burying her face in the crook of her neck. Chloe wraps her arms around her girlfriend and presses a kiss to her hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks hopefully, willing Beca to open up to her. It’s unlike her to be so secretive; this behaviour is something Chloe would have expected back when Beca was a freshman, maybe even a sophomore, but not now. They’ve been together for five years, and Beca’s learnt to deal with her emotions in a healthy way, or so Chloe had thought. Maybe she’s wrong.

“No,” Beca mumbles. Chloe’s heart sinks. She tries to fight the hurt that swells inside her, but it fills her so strongly that her chest hurts.

* * *

When Chloe steps through the front door, the flat is quiet. It’s not unusual, given Beca’s propensity to sit at her desk the whole day, legs tucked up awkwardly underneath her and a lukewarm mug of coffee abandoned beside her. But today, something doesn’t feel right.

Chloe slips off her shoes and dumps her keys in the bowl by the door, before walking towards the tiny room they transformed into a study. “Beca?” She calls, concern blooming in her stomach as she nears.

She gets no response.

Frowning, Chloe pushes open the door, half expecting to see Beca hunched over with her headphones over her ears as she usually is. Instead, she’s met with the sight of the brunette sitting, as if frozen, in the desk chair. She’s staring blankly at the wall, eyes unfocused and unseeing.

“Beca? Are you okay?” Again, no response.

Sufficiently worried, Chloe pads over to Beca and kneels in front of her, waving a hand in her face. The brunette doesn’t register her presence, doesn’t move, and doesn’t speak. Chloe’s heart thumps loudly in her ribcage, panic coursing through her veins as she frantically scrambles for an answer to her girlfriend’s unnerving behaviour.

Unable to come up with one, Chloe gently places a hand on Beca’s knee. Without warning, the brunette jumps, blinks rapidly, then jerks her head backwards with alarming force. “Chloe! What are you doing?” Beca frowns at her, obviously confused.

Chloe rises from the floor. “What am  _ I _ doing? What were  _ you  _ doing?”

Scratching at her neck, Beca swivels around in her chair and wiggles her computer mouse, her screen coming to life. “What? I was mixing?” Her words carry no conviction, and it’s evident the brunette isn’t sure whether to believe her own response.

Exasperated, Chloe tugs on her hair as she’s prone to when she’s stressed. “No you weren’t! I came in and you were staring at the wall. You wouldn’t answer me and you looked… I don’t know, far away, I guess. Like you didn’t know I was there.” Beca’s face falls. “Baby, what’s going on? You’re scaring me. Has something happened?”

Beca’s expression morphs into a reassuring smile as she stands from the chair and moves to take Chloe’s hands in her own. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m fine, I must have just spaced out for a while. I’m sorry for scaring you.” The brunette rubs her thumb in repetitive soothing motions across the back of her girlfriend’s hand as she reaches up to tuck a loose strand of red hair behind her ear.

Chloe narrows her eyes in doubt, suspicious of the sudden change in Beca’s behaviour. Something about the brunette’s tone reminds her of freshman Beca, walls built high and untrusting of everyone. Beca smiles gently and leans forward to peck her lips. Wondering in the back of her mind whether she’s been lured into a false sense of security, Chloe nods in acceptance. “It was really weird, Bec,” she says, still shaken.

“I’m really sorry, Chlo. I promise I’m okay though.” Beca’s seems genuine, her expression open, love shining in her eyes, but there’s still something not quite right. They’re both tired, though, so Chloe decides to file it away at the back of her mind for later consideration.

“Okay,” she accepts. “Shall I make some dinner?”

“Sure, I’ll help you.” Beca tugs on Chloe’s hand and leads her towards the kitchen with the promise of kisses.

Maybe everything really  _ is  _ fine.

* * *

Chloe’s startled out of her sleep by a loud whimper, a sound so heartbreaking she feels wide awake immediately. It becomes apparent that the noise came from Beca, who’s curled up in the fetal position, body shaking with sobs as she sleeps.

Filled with urgency, Chloe moves to place her hand on the brunette’s shoulder and shakes her gently. It’s unusual for Beca to have nightmares, but not unheard of. (What they’re about, Chloe has no idea. Beca’s yet to reveal their content, always brushing off her concern with a weak smile and a half-hearted assurance that she’s fine.)

“Beca, come on, wake up baby,” Chloe says quietly, shaking her girlfriend again. Beca finally stirs with a sharp sob, and opens her eyes.

“Chlo?” Her voice cracks and fills with tears, hands extending in an attempt to seek bodily contact. Chloe wraps her arms around Beca without hesitation and pulls her forward so she can bury her face in her chest.

“It’s okay love, I’m right here,” she assures. She strokes Beca’s hair in gentle, rhythmic motions, desperate to do whatever she can to calm the younger woman down.

“Promise?” Beca sounds so small and vulnerable it almost brings Chloe to tears. Her love for the brunette crashes over her like a wave, saturating her skin.

“Of course,” she whispers into the dark. As she lulls Beca back to sleep, Chloe wonders whether the nightmare was borne of the same thing that triggered the brunette the other day - Clara. It’s been a week since the woman texted Beca, and she’s still no closer to working out what’s going on. Beca flat out refuses to talk about it, always changing the subject or shaking off Chloe’s concern with a forced smile and a haunted look in her eyes.

She’s caught Beca staring vacantly at nothing on several occasions, but never mentions it. She just moves around normally, and the sound appears to snap the brunette out of whatever trance she’s in.

After walking in on her for the fifth time in two days, Chloe had taken to Google in search of an answer. She’d seen the word  _ dissociation _ thrown around a few times, and is half convinced that’s what’s been affecting Beca recently. Given that it’s a maladaptive coping mechanism, Chloe assumes it stems from some sort of trauma, possibly something relating to Clara. She doesn’t know enough to make anything more than wild guesses.

Beca seems so sensitive about the subject that she’s avoided pressing further, lest she send the brunette spiralling into another panic attack, but Chloe knows she can only help so much without knowing what’s actually going on.

Her whole life, she’s been driven by the need to help people; comfort them, offer advice and make them smile. Since she met Beca seven years ago, the desire to help and take care of her had only intensified, so to be at a loss for what to do like this is more difficult than she ever thought it would be.

Pulling Beca impossibly close to her, Chloe tries to ignore the hurt nestled deep within her, and resolves to question her girlfriend tomorrow.

* * *

Chloe sets a mug of coffee down in front of Beca and joins her at the table. The brunette is sat quietly, scrolling through social media as she munches on her plain toast.

Chloe thinks her ribs might break from the force of her heart beating as she scrambles to gather the courage to broach the subject of Beca’s behaviour over the past week. “Can we talk?” She hopes the brunette doesn’t notice the way her voice wobbles as she speaks.

Beca’s face pales and she pushes the plate with her half-eaten toast away from her. “Uh, sure.” She clicks her phone off and begins fiddling with the case, popping the corner on and off repeatedly.

“What’s going on with you, Beca? Over the past week you’ve been so different, ever since Clara texted you. I’ve caught you di— spacing out,” Chloe amends, not wanting to mistakenly label her girlfriend’s behaviour, “more times than I can count, and you’ve been having way more panic attacks. I just— I can’t help and support you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Chloe’s so focused on the way her heart’s thundering in her chest that she doesn’t notice Beca panicking until the sound of her phone clattering to the floor echoes through the kitchen.

Beca screws her eyes shut and begins digging her nails into her bare thighs, her breath becoming laboured. In a flash, Chloe’s kneeling in front of her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Can I touch you?”

The brunette shakes her head sharply and curls her fingers into fists, slamming them into her thighs over and over again. “Okay, okay, no touching. But you gotta stop hurting yourself okay baby?”

Beca bears no sign that she’s heard Chloe’s words, and continues punching herself. A pained, keening sound falls from her lips, erupting into choking sobs. Her whole body is shaking like a leaf, distress carved into her face as tears spill down her cheeks. 

Swallowing the panic that’s bubbling inside her, Chloe begins to sing the opening lyrics of  _ Titanium _ . It’s the only thing she knows helps Beca that doesn’t involve contact, and it’s her last option.

Shifting backwards so as not to overwhelm Beca further, Chloe ignores how much it pains her to see her girlfriend in this state, and just sings quietly. At first, she doesn’t think it’s working, but then Beca’s sobs slowly begin to die down and her hands fall limp by her sides.

As she sings the final lines, a soft smile on her face, Beca raises her head to meet Chloe’s gaze, cheeks red and puffy, still shiny with the remnants of her tears. She flushes with embarrassment and averts her eyes, shame creeping up her neck. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice hoarse.

“Can I hug you?” After receiving a timid nod in response, Chloe moves to engulf the brunette in her arms. She squeezes tightly, hoping to convey the love that fills her soul. “It’s okay baby, I love you.”

Beca pulls away after a moment and smiles faintly. “I love you too.”

Wordlessly, Chloe guides her girlfriend to the couch and sits down beside her, intertwining their fingers. Beca sinks into the seat and brings her legs up to her chest, slinging her arms around her calves protectively.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, distressed. “I’m so sorry.” She raises her hand to pick at her chapped lips, an anxious habit Chloe hasn’t been able to get her to give up.

“Hey, none of that, it’s okay. I just want you to be alright.” Chloe pulls Beca’s hand away from her mouth, raising it to her own lips and pressing a soft kiss to it. The brunette softens slightly, shoulders relaxing a little as she leans into the touch.

Chloe absently moves to thread her fingers through Beca’s dark hair, dragging the slender digits down to brush her jawline. She pokes her girlfriend’s noise, revelling in the soft giggle that falls from her lips. The tender moment makes Chloe beam, and she’s reminded of just how much she loves Beca.

As the brunette shifts, the smile vanishes from her lips and her expression clouds. “I…” Beca falters and clears her throat, the words a jumble on her tongue. “I was bullied for seven years, from when I was six until I was thirteen. It— It really messed me up, y’know? I don’t really remember it now; I’ve repressed it, I guess, but I still get flashbacks quite a lot. Whenever I’m reminded of it, I just… freeze, and then suddenly I’m having a p-panic attack. And then when I was fourteen, I—” Beca cuts herself off as she chokes on her words, tears pricking at her eyes. She squeezes her arms tightly around her knees and drops her head into them, resisting the urge to hit herself.

Chloe reaches out tentatively and touches Beca’s elbow in support, but the brunette jerks away as though burned. Stomach twisting, Chloe shoves her hand back into her lap and blinks back tears. Beca tries to catch her gaze, eyes wide with an apology, but the redhead deliberately looks away and stares across the room.

Whimpering quietly, Beca extends her hand to rest on Chloe’s shoulder, begging her to look back at her. Chloe twists her head around and takes Beca’s hand, tangling their fingers together. She squeezes gently in acceptance of the silent apology and nods for the brunette to continue.

“When I was fourteen, I had my first ab-abusive relationship. Every relationship I had since then, until you, has been abusive. I don’t— I don’t know why. They all used to tell me it was my fault, that I made them behave like that b-because of how annoying and— and useless I was. One of them even— H-he…” Beca sobs brokenly, crushing Chloe’s hand as she tries to hold herself together. The redhead’s heart aches for her girlfriend, both shocked and devastated by her words.

“It’s okay my love, I know what you’re trying to say,” she murmurs, cupping Beca’s damp face in her hands. She wipes away the tears and presses a kiss to the brunette’s forehead. Beca surges forward and buries her face in Chloe’s chest, arms snaking around her neck tightly.

The redhead drops her face into Beca’s hair as tears of sorrow roll down her cheeks. “I love you so much,” she says between sobs.

“I love you too.” Beca raises her tear-streaked face and looks up at Chloe through sticky lashes, love shining in her stormy eyes.

* * *

Chloe looks up from her laptop and watches as Beca enters the room, hands clasped around a steaming mug of tea. “Beca?”

“Yeah?” The brunette sits down beside her and sips at her drink, wincing as she scalding liquid burns her tongue.

Chloe draws her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbles at it as she mentally rewords what she’s about to say. She’s been trying to find the courage to bring up Beca’s recent struggles all week, but keeps backing down whenever she actually comes to speak.

Since their heart-to-heart, Beca’s only been getting worse. Chloe can’t even begin to count the number of panic attacks she’s guided the brunette through, and the nightmares are only growing more distressing. Clara’s message had sat unanswered on Beca’s phone for over a week, sending the brunette spiralling every time she opened the app, before Chloe had deleted it.

Chloe’s been spending every spare moment online, googling Beca’s symptoms in search of an answer. After a reading every article and medical website she could, and compiling her research onto a Google Doc, she thinks she has one.

“Have you considered the fact you might have PTSD?”

Beca freezes, mid-sip, fingers tightening around the handle of her mug. Chloe watches as her knuckles whiten, already wondering whether she should have just kept her mouth shut. “What?”

There’s no avoiding it now, not when Beca’s staring at her with fear sparkling in her wide eyes, silently demanding an explanation. “I think you might have PTSD,” Chloe says, voice soft and cautious. She swiftly becomes aware that things are going to go one of two ways; Beca’s either going to lash out, or she’s going to shut down.

(Sometimes Chloe thinks she prefers it when Beca lashes out. She’d much rather the brunette expelled her emotions in some way, even if she’s the recipient. But in the moments when Beca’s angry and snarling, spiralling like a tornado, Chloe wishes she’d just shut down instead.)

As Beca slams her tea down on the table, the liquid splashing over the edges of the mug, Chloe braces herself. “Where the fuck is this coming from?” The brunette snaps, glaring sharply at her girlfriend.

Unable to stop herself flinching backwards at the harsh tone, Chloe reaches up to tug on a strand of hair, pulling so hard it hurts. Beca’s jaw clenches, her body taught and ready to flee at any given moment.

“I, um, was doing some research, and it— it sounds like something you might have.” Chloe swallows thickly, eyes prickling with tears under the brunette’s intense gaze. She reminds herself that she’s only trying to help, trying to offer Beca the support she deserves. She can’t be faulted for that, right?

“I think I’d know if I had PTSD, Chloe. That shit’s intense,” Beca scoffs. Although her tone is dismissive, her dark eyes betray the panic soaring within her.

As much as Chloe wants to snap, she forces herself to take a deep breath and respond calmly. Things never end well when they both get worked up. “Look, I’m obviously not a professional, but I really think you should go and see one.” She’s almost proud that she manages to sound so sure of herself, but it’s cast aside in favour of the way her stomach knots as Beca bolts up from the couch.

The brunette folds her arms across her chest as she does when she’s defensive, and furrows her brow. “You want me to go and see a shrink?”

“Beca, come on. You’re going through some really difficult stuff right now, and as much as I wish I could support you properly, I can’t. I don’t know enough to be able to give you the help you need,” Chloe pleads, tears welling up in her eyes because  _ fuck _ , she never meant for things to get out of hand like this.

“I don’t want to, Chloe.”

“But—”

“But  _ nothing _ , okay? Drop it,” Beca snarls, eyes flashing dangerously. Chloe drops her head, not wanting the brunette to see the tears rolling down her cheeks, lest it make her more angry.

“I-I was only t-trying to help,” she says quietly, breath hitching as she struggles to mask her sobs.

“Well stop trying.”

Chloe cries harder, shoulders shaking as she rises, legs almost buckling beneath her. She winds her arms around her stomach in an attempt to hold herself together as she moves to leave the room.

Beca watches, guilt scrawled across her face. In her anger, she hadn’t realised the effect her words had had on her girlfriend; she never meant to upset her. She stares, speechless, mouth a few seconds behind her brain as she scrambles for something to say.

“Wait, Chlo. Come back, I’m sorry.” She rushes to circle the redhead’s wrist before she leaves, tugging her backwards. Her heart drops as Chloe winces, jerking the small limb back into her chest.

She pauses in the doorway and raises her tear-streaked face to look at Beca. “Y-You made it p-perfectly clear how you felt,” she says, the intended malice evaporating from her tone. Instead, she just sounds sad.

“No, please, I didn’t mean it. I just lashed out because I felt threatened, okay? Because I didn’t want you to be right. I’m sorry. Please don’t go,” Beca begs, as guilt wraps its fingers around her heart and squeezes.

“So you think I’m right? You think you might have it?”

Relief floods over Beca’s face as Chloe turns around and wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. The brunette sighs and ducks her head, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I don’t know, I haven’t looked into it. I don’t even know if I meet the diagnostic criteria.” 

“How about we look into it together, yeah? I can show you what I found,” Chloe offers, hope twinkling in her eyes.

Beca smiles tentatively in response and nods. Her face falls a split-second later, and she fiddles with the hem of her hoodie. “Are we okay? I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you, please forgive me.”

Chloe’s still upset, but the misery on Beca’s face makes her melt. “Yeah,” she says, stepping forward. She laces their fingers together, squeezing gently.“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

They're sitting in the waiting area at the psychiatrist’s office; after talking things through a few days ago, Chloe managed to persuade Beca to make an appointment with a nearby psychiatrist to be assessed for PTSD. It wasn’t easy, but eventually the hope of anxiety medication and therapy had overridden the brunette’s fears.

“I’m going to be right here waiting for you, baby. You’ve got this,” Chloe reassures, rubbing her thumb soothingly over the back of Beca’s hand.

Beca’s forehead creases as she frowns. “What if she tells me I’m making it up?” There’s a tinge of panic laced in her tone, and she’s gripping Chloe’s fingers so tight she wonders if she might break them.

Eyes softening impossibly further, Chloe leans in to press a comforting kiss to Beca’s cheek. “Then I’ll come in there and kick her ass, okay?”

“Okay,” Beca nods.

They both glance up as the receptionist calls Beca’s name, and the brunette stands up. Chloe doesn’t comment on the tremble of her legs. “I love you, Becs. It’s going to be okay.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

Chloe rises abruptly as soon as Beca appears from around the corner, clutching some sheets of paper. “Hey darling, how did it go?”

Beca’s tentative smile tells Chloe it went okay, and the breath of relief she releases is audible. “She— She told me I had Complex-PTSD. She also prescribed me some medication for anxiety, and recommended Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing therapy.”

“How do you feel about it?” Chloe asks, wanting to make sure she responds appropriately to the way Beca feels.

“I feel okay, actually. and kind of relieved as well. She said it wasn’t going to be easy. I’m going to have to talk through everything and work on processing the trauma, but I want to try it.” Beca sounds hopeful, something that Chloe hasn’t heard in her voice for a long time, and it fills her with warmth.

Chloe beams, flinging her arms around her girlfriend and pressing their bodies together tightly. She buries her nose in chocolate waves and inhales Beca’s lavender shampoo. “I’m so proud of you baby, I’m going to be here for you every step of the way,” she whispers, unwilling to let go of Beca just yet.

Beca squeezes the redhead tightly in response and nuzzles her face into her chest. “Thank you Chlo, I really appreciate it.”

**Author's Note:**

> please be kind with feedback, this fic means a lot to me as i’m struggling massively with my ptsd right now!!
> 
> also, for anyone interested, eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing therapy is a recent, non-traditional form of psychotherapy which involves using a patient’s own rapid eye movements. these eye movements dampen the power of emotionally charged memories of past traumatic events. the therapist usually moves their fingers back and forth in front of the patient’s face and asks them to follow the motions with their eyes. at the same time, the therapist asks the patient to recall a disturbing event. gradually, the therapist helps shift the patient’s thoughts to more pleasant ones. the desired outcome is that the disturbing memories will become less disabling and have a weaker effect on the patient. it’s super interesting, i think!!


End file.
